


pipe down

by holdenscoffee (spacebarista)



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Gen, Interrogation, Loyalty, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 16:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13239756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebarista/pseuds/holdenscoffee
Summary: Amos is pretty critical of Holden's interrogation skills.





	pipe down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silver_89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_89/gifts).



> Another tumblr prompt fill. This one was for Amos with the line "Pipe the fuck down, asshole" from Silver. I usually struggle a bit with Amos' voice, but I usually find it by having him make fun of Holden or give him a hard time.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please review!

Amos scratches his jaw. As he’s noted to Holden before, this interrogation would go must faster—and far more successfully—if he could just… _punch_ this asshole. Again. The suggestion didn’t go over well. Still, it’s been almost two hours, and Holden has _yet_ to pull any meaningful information from the guy.

 

Amos thinks he might be embarrassed. Or that Holden should be.

 

He’s a smuggler. He’s been smuggling relief supplies meant for Ganymede to pirate ships through the Jovian moons. It stings Naomi a bit. Holden a bit more. So Amos doesn’t really mind roughing up the guys making harder for people to live and his family to sleep at night. This is personal for everyone on the crew. For Amos, it’s just the justice of the churn. You mess with good people, you get angry good people coming after you.

 

He tunes back into the interrogation in time to hear the guy spit at Holden, who stares at the bloody mess at his feet with disgust.

 

“You Earther sons of bitches always think you can tell us how to live, huh?”

 

Amos snorts. “Hey, I hear his mothers are nice ladies.”

 

Holden shoots him a withering “Don’t encourage him, I can handle this myself, Amos” look. It’s only so funny because he clearly can’t. Holden turns back to the guy anyway. Amos cracks his knuckles, itching to just deck this guy.

 

“My Earther mothers aside, the factions are pretty united in the opinion that stealing relief supplies meant for suffering people is a pretty shitty thing to do.”

 

The asshole smiles, bloody teeth bared in a cliche attempt at intimidation. “We all have to make money, coyo.”

 

Holden just stares at him, grunts deep in his throat like he does when he’s incredibly unimpressed with someone. Amos likes that one.

 

“Do we?”

 

“Of course,” he leans back in the chair he’s tied up in, chin up like a young punk thinking he’s got the upper hand. Like all the kids who wanted to take over business in Baltimore only to end up forever sleeping in the bay for their insolence. “Earthers and Martians? They use us for profit. Don’t care who gets hurt. Why should I then? Why do I gotta be expected to be the better man and look out for people when you don’t?”

 

Amos freezes at that. Is this asshole accusing them of not looking out for people? Shit. That’s all his crew does. Naomi. Holden. Alex. All they do is help people. He knows that’s not what the guy means. He _knows_. Still, a heat rises in his chest. He cracks his knuckles again. _We don’t look out for people?_ This guy has guts, he’ll give him that. To look Captain Holden in the eye and say his crew doesn’t help people.

 

“You just zip around in your _Martian_ ship, telling us what we _should_ do and who we _should_ help and just leaving because you don’t have to give up _anything_ you fucking arrogant piece of—”

 

Amos’ doesn’t realize he’s moving until his knuckles ache and Holden’s calling his name. He’s punched the asshole in the face. Again.

 

“Amos—”

 

Amos ignores Holden, fisting the front of the asshole’s jumpsuit in his hand and pulling him up so he doesn’t have to lean down as far. Blood drips from his very broken nose, and all of _his_ arrogance has melted away into something less… brave. Still, he holds his jaw tight. Playing tough.

 

“Pipe the fuck down, asshole, or I’ll make sure you can’t pipe the fuck back up later.” He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t hiss. Just says it. The toughness wavers. Yup. Just like some punk from Baltimore. Amos shifts his gaze to an exhausted looking Holden. He sets the guy down, straightens his own jumpsuit. “Sorry, Cap.” He’s not really. “All yours.”

 

“Thanks… Amos. Appreciate the help.”

 

The tightness in his voice betrays how much he _really_ appreciates the help. Amos shrugs it off. The asshole insulted them. Wronged them by assuming they were as low as he is. Maybe Amos is, but Naomi, Alex, and Holden would never be. They’d always be better than the both of them.

 

By the time he’s settled back against the worn cargo bulkhead, Holden’s leaning down in the guy’s face, talking too quietly to really make out. It’s more menacing, but everyone knows he doesn’t mean it. The asshole’s gaze slides back to Amos. So does Holden’s. Amos smirks and the former’s eyes leave him as fast as a bullet.

 

Holden might not mean it. But Amos certainly does. And now they _all_ know it.


End file.
